“Arcadia reflects the tension between what we seek to order and what resists containment.
The garden is a frame within the city, just as photography is a frame within perception.”
📅 28 September | 17h – 21h
📍 [Local da exposição]
🔗 Save your spot: [https://t.co/sOGvYFjqbx]
Light Without Shadows
“In Hölzung, grey winter light spreads without casting shadows.”
This muted light doesn’t impose — it lets things surface quietly, like weather remembered.
🔗 Hölzung in Granta: https://t.co/yDF1uATdo8
Stillness and the Gaze
“Words curling on the lips and falling to the ground with a dull clack.” (Hölzung)
Photographs refuse to speak. In their silence lies power — stillness more resonant than speech.
🔗 Hölzung in Granta: https://t.co/yDF1uATdo8
Vanishing Language
“Hölzung… a rare word, endangered like some birds and butterflies.” (Hölzung)
Lose a word, and the place it names thins. To speak it is to keep it alive.
🔗 Hölzung in Granta: https://t.co/yDF1uASFyA
On the Outskirts
“There is a comfort at the edge of things… neither wholly city nor wholly wild.” (Hölzung)
Photographers, too, find shelter at thresholds — marginals raising cameras where no one minds.
🔗 Hölzung in Granta: https://t.co/yDF1uATdo8
Every Frame, a Map
“Every lens frames the world… as if the frame were the world.” (Hölzung)
Photographs do not just show; they chart. Each frame a compass, each connection a story.
🔗 Hölzung in Granta: https://t.co/yDF1uATdo8
Memory, by Weather
“I’d like to be a blank surface for the pictures to impress themselves on.” (Hölzung)
Memory is not a library. It comes like fog, leaf, boots on a bridge — stirred by texture more than names.
🔗 Hölzung in Granta: [https://t.co/yDF1uASFyA]
“Hölzung opens with a quiet question: What is an unencumbered gaze, and when does it begin to see?”
Emily LaBarge once asked the opposite: “When does one stop seeing?”
Between the two, vision lingers: receptive, tentative, slightly detached.
Granta:https://t.co/yDF1uASFyA
This piece began with a single film clip: Frampton’s Nostalgia.
What started as a viewing turned into a meditation on fire, memory, and performance.
Read here (Issue 15):
https://t.co/ZHJjoifhcQ
The burning bush spoke without consuming.
The burning photograph burns — but leaves only silence.
One is the voice of God. The other is the silence between His words.
Read my reflection on Issue 15
https://t.co/ZHJjoifP2o
How much of ourselves belongs in what we write?
In response to a Granta essay on Nostalgia, I reflect on structure vs. confession — and when personal narrative eclipses its subject.
Read the Article - https://t.co/lLcFCYnMFs
Read my commentary https://t.co/ffSg7gIaAb
I recently interviewed Zackery Hobler.
One of his images shows a photograph burned — a rupture on paper.
Like Frampton’s Nostalgia, it’s not destruction. It’s a performance.
Subscribe to read (Issue 15): https://t.co/ZHJjoifhcQ
A photo burns. A voice speaks — but not of the image we see.
Hollis Frampton’s Nostalgia (1971) is a haunting meditation on time, memory, and loss.
Watch the opening: https://t.co/6pyxb3cAQG
My reflection on the burning photograph https://t.co/ffSg7gIaAb
@CityLab England’s cycling network aims to cut car use, but many parents drive to work anyway. Will big investments change habits for a few short trips? Curious about cost-benefit plans. #Cycling#UrbanPlanning
@CityLab Cycling to school sounds great, but what about kids breathing car fumes? England’s bike plan needs separated lanes to cut pollution risks. Health benefits shouldn’t come with a catch. Ideas? #Cycling#AirQuality
@CityLab England’s cycling plan is ambitious, but will it cut car use? Many parents combine school drop-offs with work commutes, so kids cycling may not reduce trips. Curious how the plan addresses this. Thoughts? #Cycling#UrbanMobility
Painting what cannot be seen.
Emily LaBarge writes that Rembrandt painted mortality, solitude, the unspeakable.
In The Jewish Bride or The Return of the Prodigal Son, the gaze is so present it could be a photograph.
More: https://t.co/ZHJjoifP2o
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Utopia, some say, passes through affliction. Think of Christ on the cross: exposed, suffering, yet serene — a sacred image charged with vulnerability, desire, and devotion.
For more reflections on photography, images, and the gaze, subscribe here:
🔗 https://t.co/ZHJjoifhcQ
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What draws the eye?
In art — and in life — there’s often a hook: a shimmer of spectacle that stops us in our tracks. Nudity, horror, beauty, violence. Not necessarily truth, but bait for the gaze.
And we look — before we even know why.
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From the self-portraits of nude artists to the raw images of war or police brutality, the hook works the same way: it seduces, even when it claims to resist.
Are we drawn by empathy or impulse?
Do we look because we care, or because we can’t look away?
Often, the two blur.